


Cipher Wings Soar High

by SerenaDusk



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Alliance, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Reverse Falls (Gravity Falls), Deals, Gen, M/M, Mixture for drama, SEALs, Wings, cryptid
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-15 13:27:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29065056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SerenaDusk/pseuds/SerenaDusk
Summary: Stanford is in a bit of a pickle with thos who finance him and he would love a way to get back at them. And what do you know, the solution is quite literally falling out of the sky.
Relationships: Will Cipher | Reverse Bill Cipher/Ford Gleeful | Reverse Ford Pines
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	1. A gift from heaven?

**Fallen from the sky.**

A sunny morning, maybe a bit chilly so early in the spring, but welcoming and friendly. Perfect weather to exchange his office for the gardens. Perhaps the morning breeze would help him clear his mind and see the solution of this minor setback. And it would not have to become more than minor setback once he found that all-important solution. If he did not, Stanford Gleeful had to admit he would be quite stuck. The society of Witchcraft and Impossible Sciences would no longer support him and his business unless he gave them something more substantial than he had done so far. Stanford longed for the day he would no longer need them anymore, or even better, the day they needed him. But as for now, they financed his research and by extension the estate, so he needed to stay om good terms with them and fulfil their demands to make sure they would not revoke his grant. So far, he had kept them satisfied by delivering high quality ingredients, harvested from the creatures and plants found around the town, but he needed something bigger, something more constant. Something that made him a member instead of a supplier. But for that, he would have to get his hands on something stronger and more interesting than the sources of the ingredients. Most creatures did not even survive the harvest of their assets. A shame, and a waste, because it kept him from gaining a stable resource to rely on.

While Stanford was overthinking this, he had left his office, greeted Fiddleford on his way out and exited the house to take a walk on the grounds of his home. The only reason he had been able to acquire this much land was because the society permitted it. He had to have free access to the strange creatures and events of this region without being disturbed, so private ownership had been a must. The fact Stanford had so much because of them did not put him in a very good mood. He did not want to be relying on them, or anyone else for that matter. He had studied magic, learned to wield it himself so he would not have to leave something like that to anyone else. Yes, he had employed Fiddleford as his assistant, but Stanford was still the man in charge, as he should be. He took a deep breath as he reached the garden and smelled the sweet scent of the unique flowers he grew, thanks to the strange energy that hung in the air around the town. It did help him clear his mind a bit, and he could move on from thinking about the problem to thinking about possible solutions. There were plenty of stronger creatures around, creatures that would most likely be a more consistent source of relevant substances. It would be more of an issue how to contain such a being, as they could not be reasoned with. None of them stronger things around the place seemed to display signs of intelligence. It was as if power and logic were linked, and more of one meant less of the other. Very inconvenient if he was honest with himself.

As he was going through the list of possible creatures in his head, he sat down on a seat and leaned back, setting his gaze on the clear sky above him and the manor. Because it was still early, there weren’t really any birds in the sky. He did hear one singing in a nearby tree, but not much else. It was peaceful, and yet he liked the birds around here. It hardly ever happened that any animal he saw was just an ordinary one. It almost always was some sort of creature. So, when Stanford saw a dot, high in the sky, he sat up a little straighter and followed it with his dark brown eyes. It most likely was something harmless. Most flying creatures were low tier beings, good for basics, not much else. But the thing kept growing as it approached the garden at an incredible speed. Stanford got up and moved behind a hedge, to be able to see what this thing was without being spotted himself. A thought came up in his head: this was something he had never seen before. Something new. Perhaps the solution for his little issue? He watched the thing, it was still heading straight towards the ground almost, at a weird angle. As if it was more crashing down than actually flying. If it was injured in any way, Stanford might be able to have it bond to him as a saviour or protector. Then if the being turned out to be permanently useful, he would have an easier method to harvest from it on a regular basis. Stanford was already making plans, while he didn’t even know what it was yet, or why it looked like it would crash into his garden. And it was still getting larger, it could still be something that would destroy have the estate when it landed. But no, by now, Stanford could see it was no meteorite or anything of that kind. He could see a pair of wings from the backside of the creature. It was fairly close now, but the speed was too high to make out much detail. Stanford saw blue, white, and silver before he had to retreat further. The being was about to tap the ground.

And it did. With a loud crash the being made contact with solid ground. Stanford couldn’t see where exactly it landed, because he had kept himself hidden, but since he didn’t anything after the moment of impact, he decided to take a look. Stanford caught a glimpse of large, white, feathery wings before they seemed to fade away, leaving the being unprotected in full view. As the six-fingered sorcerer approached it, he found that it was unconscious. That wasn’t much of a surprise, considering the force of the impact. The being looked like a young male, with blue hair and fair skin. It was laying on its side, slightly curled up in a crater in the ground, which had definitely not been there before this being crashed down. Stanford crouched down and ghosted his broad palm over the being’s forehead. It did not react to it, but when the sorcerer set two fingers over the soft lips, he could clearly feel it breathing. It was alive, and it did not look too injured considering the crash. Stanford hesitated for a moment, but then picked the figure up and pulled it close into his arms. While it was the size of a slender human, slightly taller than he was himself, the being was very light, hardly heavier than his largest books. Extraordinary, and nothing like he had ever seen before. He wondered where the wings had disappeared to but decided that could wait. First, he would take this being somewhere out of sight from the world. This was a discovery he did not want to share.

Luckily, the house was big enough, and Stanford had a spare room not far from his own, where this being would probably feel at home. It was decorated in white and light blue, with a four-poster bed with soft sheets and flowy white curtains. Once the sorcerer had put the being down, gently resting the head on the soft pillows, he took a closer look at this mystery figure. He took notice of the delicate features, the small ears with pointed tips, and the thin frame. It had something angelic really, but maybe that was because of the wings. Stanford knew it had not been his imagination. But where did those wings go. He took a closer look at the attire the being was in. Light blue pants, normal enough. White laced boots, unusual but nothing too strange. A wide shirt of a silver material he did not know, very odd. He frowned and carefully placed a hand under the being’s shoulders, rolling it over on its side again. The shirt turned out to be backless, and over the pale shoulders, down the back, covering most of its backside, was a tattoo of a pair of wings. The design was identical to the large wings he had seen when the being crashed down, but these were only images. Ink on skin, no actual wings. How strange. He traced the lines with a finger for a few seconds before letting the being roll back on its back again. It was still unconscious, but a soft groan told him that it wouldn’t take much longer. Stanford made a decision and retreated to the doorway. He wanted to see what would happen when this being would wake up.

It took a few more seconds for the being to finally wake up. It sat up and moved a few locks of blue hair away from its eyes. Then the being took a look around until its eyes settled on Stanford. The sorcerer tilted his head, noticing that the eyes weren’t identical. One was a different colour. The left eye was a beautiful blue, but the right was a deep purple. How odd. But what happened then made the eyes seem like normal. Because despite the fact the being had been unconscious only seconds earlier, it shot up, out of bed, and into a defensive stance. And before Stanford’s eyes, a pair of wings seemed to sprout out of nowhere. They weren’t stretched, but neatly folded over the being’s shoulders, the tips only inches off the ground. Stanford tilted his head. “Don’t be afraid, I mean no harm.” He spoke calmly, stepping away from the doorway. The being hesitated, but its eyes shot over to the exit. Before the sorcerer could say something else, the being shot past him, out of the room, straight to the nearest open window. Stanford watched the being leap out, spread its wings, and shoot into the sky. How strange. He wondered why the being seemed so scared of him. He had only attempted to make it feel at ease, but something had set it off. But it had not attacked him, despite the fact one hit of those wings would probably be enough to break his entire ribcage. Interesting, and a shame the being wanted to leave so badly.

Although did it really want to leave? Stanford watched from the window how the being circled the manor once before landing near a fountain and kneeled down to drink the clean water. How peculiar. What in the name of myths was this creature? It couldn’t be an actual angel. It didn’t fit any of the stories. But those wings did remind of those. Stanford made a decision again and went outside, approaching the being with open hands, to show he was not armed. If it turned out he would have to capture the being, he would, but right now he just wanted it to speak to him without fleeing immediately. “Excuse me?” He asked when he was close enough. The being looked at him, flinched, and backed away. “Do not flee again, beautiful being, I don’t want to hurt you.” Stanford kept his voice soft and kind. “You’re a liar.” A light, clear voice replied. The sorcerer stopped and frowned ever so slightly. “Why do you say that?” He asked confused. For once, he had not been lying. He did not want to hurt the being if he did not have to. He was way too intrigued to do so. “I know that symbol.” The being answered, pointing at something on Stanford’s waistcoat. The man looked down to see what this was all about. “I see.” He muttered to himself.

Apparently the being knew about the Society. The sorcerer had forgotten he was wearing a pin with their symbol on the chest pocket of his waistcoat. “I know what they do to beings like me. Don’t think I will fall for any lies that you won’t hurt me.” The being hissed. Stanford raised his hands. “Please. I understand your reaction now, but I can assure you that I am not wearing their symbol by choice. They are financing my business, forcing me to treat unique individuals like you with far less respect than they deserve. I do not wish to harm you, but I do have to admit they have made me quite desperate.” Stanford removed the pin and put it in the pocket. The being seemed to calm down a little. “They captured me about a year ago. I escaped them this morning only. This is the first place I land; I was scared I would land somewhere that belonged to them, and now I did just that.” It sighed, sounding defeated. “I suppose you are expecting I will return you to them, since you belong to those who fund me?” Stanford was forming a plan in his head. This was interesting. He just needed to get this winged one on his side first. “What is your name, winged one?” He asked, keeping his distance to not startle it. “They called me William. William Cipher.” The answer came with hesitation. “Who is they? The society?” Stanford asked for clarification, and the being nodded. “You do not have a name of your own? No parents to give you a name to be called by?” The question was answered with a sad shaking of the head. “Beings like me are created, not born. I am a product of imagination. A cryptid. I have no more accurate name than that. But I like William. It sounds nice.”

Stanford gave a warm smile. “It does have a nice ring to it, I agree. I heard cryptids can possess incredible powers, which is most likely why they captured you, isn’t it?” He asked, tilting his head a bit. Will nodded. “There have been many stories of Cryptids like me, under various names. The more stories there are, the stronger we get. Those who kept me prisoner discovered that by spreading stories with specific mentions, they could make me stronger, but also add the right tools they needed to keep me from escaping. I was powerless, until they went too far and allowed a loophole for me to destroy the lore they made. Then I ran.” He explained, folding his hands in his lap. Stanford approached him now and held out his hand. “I promise that I will keep you away from them, you do not have to go back. All I ask for is your help so I can untangle myself from their strings as well. Would you accept that offer?” He asked, and Will tilted his head a little before sliding his slim hand into Stanford’s. “Are you willing to make that a sealed contract?” The Cryptid asked in return, and Stanford gave a calm nod. “I will even make it more specific. You may stay in my home and call it your home too, in exchange for your knowledge and your powers.” He stated, and William smiled. “I accept.” He spoke and Stanford felt a burning sensation in his hand. He pulled it back and cradled it close, looking down. Etched in the palm of his hand was a triangle with an eye in the centre. It stung a bit, and when Stanford carefully touched it with his other hand, he winced. “I’m sorry, it won’t hurt long. It is just a safety measure, to avoid returning to my previous position.” Will promised. Stanford looked at him. “In the future, a warning would be welcome.” He said flatly, stretching his fingers a few times.

William carefully stretched his wings once before folding them again. They shrunk and faded into his back again, leaving him looking like a slender young man again. “Where did they go?” Stanford was very curious about this being. He did not think it was much of a threat to him, seeing how it reacted. It was more likely to flee than attack him, which was much easier to work with. And really, if he did not have to hurt Will, it would be even better for everyone involved. Sometimes pain was necessary, but he was not violent without a very good reason. “They are retracted into my back. You can see them as what humans call tattoos, but otherwise they are gone. It is a way to hide among humans without being too obvious. People seem to think I am strange for having such tattoos and blue hair, but it is safer than walking around with my wings.” William seemed more willing to talk now that the contract was in place. Clearly such a connection was to be respected. Not a problem, it put William safely at his side and gave him a very strong weapon against the Society.


	2. A chance to fight back?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Will crashed into the garden, Stanford has gotten the cryptid settled into a nice bedroom. Now it is time the being meets the other resident of the manor, but the first try didn't go too well. The second time might be better. Stanford needs them to get along somewhat, so he can prepare them both for the moment they will stand up against the society.

**Resting in the feathers.**

“I am glad to see you are enjoying the room, William.” Stanford smiled friendly at the cryptid, seated on the unusually wide windowsill. His wings were currently not on display, and the being was leaning with his bare back against the side of the window. One leg was dangling freely on the outside, the other was bent, the foot resting on the hard surface, an elbow resting on the top of the knee. William smiled back, although it came out a bit shaky. “It is such a nice view from here.” He said softly, watching the man walk up to him. Stanford put a hand on the skinny shoulder of the cryptid and squeezed it lightly. “It is, but I have to say I am glad you’re here, resting your wings. You must have been so startled at what he said to you.” He spoke soothingly, but still felt how Will’s shoulders tensed. The cryptid sighed and looked away, to the world outside again. It was true, he had been quite scared when he heard the other resident of the house speak those words. Even if the context was somewhat understandable, he felt shaken up by it. Perhaps because it just reminded him too much of the way his handlers spoke to and about him back when he was kept by the society. Still, perhaps he shouldn’t have fled like that after the comment. It seemed like an overreaction now that he could think straight again.

“Fiddleford’s remark was simply a result of us being forced to mistreat beings such as yourself in order to meet the quotas we were given. I can assure you that he did not enjoy doing that to those beings any more than I did. We did what we had to do in order to remain afloat. I already explained you how much we are stuck in their grasp, and how desperate both are to escape their terrible influence.” Stanford might exaggerate a bit by the words he chose, but he wasn’t lying. His life was controlled by the whims of the society, and it made him angrier than he showed. There was more to that story, but right now he had to put the cryptid at ease after what his assistant had said. It really had not been the smartest comment. ‘At least this one has four limbs again and I don’t have to adjust the table.’ It made sense, considering how every creature Stanford had brought to the manor so far had ended up in the lab for harvesting, before either being released, or dying in the process, so they would have a body to dispose of. But William wasn’t there for harvesting. Stanford had been intending to introduce Fiddleford to the cryptid, so they could all start working on the details of the plan he had to get out of the grasp of the people who found it necessary to dominate the field of Impossible Sciences from a distance. While he had been told a few stories of what truly went on inside the walls of their headquarters, they still seemed to mostly keep away from the bloody handwork suppliers had to do in order to even be allowed to study any anomaly at all. Stanford let out a sigh and rubbed William’s shoulder. “I have explained to him that he should not have said that. It was rude, and it is not why you are here. He was relieved and has asked me to let you know he wants to apologize, if you are not too scared to meet him again.” He took a step back now but held out his hand. It was up to the creature now.

William hesitated, but slid his hand into Stanford’s after a few seconds. “You won’t leave me alone with him, right?” The cryptid asked softly while the sorcerer pulled him closer. “Of course not, winged one. I will be right there the entire time. Fiddleford has actually asked me the same thing. I think he is intimidated by what you are. Amusing, isn’t it? He has not even seen your wings yet, and still he is impressed by you. Come, I promise you that no harm will come over you. We have a seal in place, and I have no desire to break it. And I do not believe you have either.” Stanford led the cryptid through the hallways, to a different room than the living room, where he had planned to introduce them initially. Now he had changed those plans a little bit, and instead led William to the ballroom. It was hardly ever in use anyway, but for now it was perfect. The room was big enough for the cryptid to fully spread his wings and even take flight, without crashing into anything. William followed, although he was a bit surprised when they entered the ballroom. “Why are we here, and not in the living room? There were such comfortable seats there.” He asked confused, but Stanford didn’t answer, just led the cryptid to the stage where the musicians would be in the event of a ball happening. “If you would sit here, while I go and get Fiddleford. It should not take long, winged one. I chose this room for a reason, and it will all become clear soon enough. I ask for a little bit of patience from you now.” He lightly squeezed the slender hand he was holding, and William nodded with a smile. “I can do that. It is a beautiful room. There just aren’t any real places to sit, except maybe over here, but this is a floor.” He said, causing the other to chuckle. “That is because this is not a place where people usually go to be seated. This is where people dance and where music is played. It is not in use though, and I am sure you will find that this room is perfect for this proper introduction. But now I will leave you alone for a few minutes while I bring Fiddleford here.” Stanford let go of the hand and left the room. William made himself comfortable on the floor and took a good look around. It really was pretty.

Stanford made his way over to his assistant’s favourite room in the house, even if the man was forced to carry out procedures he loathed. Fiddleford was a scientist by heart, and the laboratory was truly a safe space for him. Watching him work sometimes had a very reassuring effect on Stanford, because as long as his assistant was working, he trusted that all the quotas would be met, and that the society would leave him to his research for yet another month. So yes, when the sorcerer opened the door to the lab, he was not surprised to find Fiddleford there, mixing chemicals together. “He is willing to try again but keep your comments to yourself. As I said, I do not want William to end up in here if it can be avoided, and I am quite sure it can be.” Stanford’s voice was calm and not unfriendly, and his assistant looked up with a deep sigh. “I’m sorry. It has been a stressful time, and with the society demanding constant payment, it has been hard to keep myself in check.” He said, removing the rubber gloves he had been wearing while working with the tubes. Stanford nodded, understanding. “I agree, and I also think that the one I wanted to introduce you to is the answer to that little problem. Because with him, our days as mere suppliers for the society are over. It’s my turn now, and you know I do not ever miss an opportunity like this.” He straightened his waistcoat as they walked back to the ballroom. Like William, Fiddleford was a bit surprised that was where they were going, but he knew his boss well enough to understand he’d have his reasons. Instead, he spent the walk wondering what Stanford meant when he said that the blue haired youngling could be the end of their low ranked life with the society. So far, his boss had not told him anything about the being, except his name, and that he would not be used for harvest.

When they reached the room, Stanford went in first, but gestured for Fiddleford to follow him immediately after, which he did. The door closed after him, and the assistant looked around until his eyes landed on the slender figure sitting on the little music stage. Said figure was looking back at him and seemed to be on his guard. Fiddleford tensed up a bit and carefully approached it. The being got up from his current position and shifted so that he would be ready to run off again, like last time, if it became necessary. The scientist raised his hands, not wanting a repeat of last time. “I’m sorry for what I said last time, I don’t want to put you in the lab, I promise.” He said, and William seemed to calm down a little, and instead got up. Fiddleford noticed how tall the being was, although it was likely a little bit shorter than he was himself. He stopped at a bit of a distance from the stage and watched how the being gracefully hopped off the raised floor and walked over to him. The scientist would let the being speak next, not wanting to risk anything anymore. He shot a quick glance to Stanford though, just to be sure. His boss gave him a nod, and when he looked back, he saw that William had extended his hand. “Stanford told me you are Fiddleford, that you work for him. I am William, but I think he told you that already.” The scientist blinked at the soft, light voice this being turned out to have, but did accept the hand and shook it shortly. Then he couldn’t hold himself any longer and blurted out the question that had been on his mind from the start. “What are you?” It wasn’t supposed to come out so bluntly, but he had to know. He had to understand why Stanford was so excited about this blue haired lad, whose main anomaly right now seemed to be the heterochromia. The being shot a look at Stanford now, and he too was met with a nod. Then he looked back and retracted his hand, folding them together behind his back. “I am a Cryptid.” He answered then, doing his best to sound as calm as possible, but unable to suppress the sigh in relief he felt coming up when he saw the look of understanding in the eyes of the man with the round glasses.

Fiddleford ran a hair through his messy, half long dirty blonde hair and took a deep breath. “Now I understand why Stanford was acting like that. I have never seen him this excited about a being before. “So, you’re a Cryptid? A real one? With actual powers according to the legends? But what kind are you? I don’t know many cryptids with such a distinctly human form. I mean, I know some humanoid cryptids, but those are usually big and burly or covered in hair, like bigfoot or the abominable snowman.” The man started rambling, and Stanford walked over to them with a laugh. “Calm down my good man. William cannot get a word in between that waterfall of speech you spout out.” He spoke up, and Fiddleford immediately shut up, his face turning bright red. The sorcerer took the opportunity to turn to the cryptid. “I am sure you are perfectly capable of explaining what kind of cryptid you are, but I have the feeling it would be much more effective if you showed him how uniquely beautiful you are, and then you explain to him how you ended up here. Once that is out of the way, I suggest we move back to the living room to talk about how we will proceed. Do you agree?” He spoke calmly, and William nodded. Now he understood why Stanford had chosen this room for the introduction. Clearly, he knew his assistant well, and had anticipated these questions. And if he was to fly in here, a large space was much more suited for it than the living room, where he most likely would have crashed into furniture, or swept things from tables. His wings were rather large after all.

The cryptid took a few steps back, and Fiddleford felt how his boss lightly squeezed his shoulder. Apparently, it was quite sight. He could basically feel the excitement coming from Stanford. Neither of them took their gaze away from William one second though, and a moment later, the scientist gasped for air as he watched the wings sprout and then unfold. The cryptid stretched them shortly before bending his knees just a little bit and then he shot up in the air, to the ceiling. Fiddleford watched breathlessly as the being circled the spacious ballroom a few times before gracefully landing in front of him, the wings folding on his back. The scientist took a step forward and circled the being a few times. William blushed a little bit, but Stanford gave him a reassuring look, which calmed him down immediately. “Can I, maybe, if you don’t mind, touch them?” Fiddleford asked carefully, and Stanford immediately walked over. “You’re very direct, they’re his wings, not statuettes.” He spoke sternly, but William shook his head. “It’s fine, I understand that they must be fascinating. You may touch, but please be careful. It is very painful when the feathers are pulled out forcefully. I do shed them naturally, but please don’t rip them out.” He said, and a second later he felt two pairs of hands running through the soft feathers. Fiddleford was hesitant, and just wanted to feel the structure of the feathers, but Stanford ran his hands over the muscles he could feel underneath it all. He understood how strong they were, and what a hit of one of these beauties would mean.

Eventually he took a step back and the two men watched the wings retract further and morph into his back, turning back into tattoos. Fiddleford almost bounced out of his skin when he watched that happen. This being, this William, was so much more interesting than any being they had had in the manor, and Stanford was right, with him, they wouldn’t have quotas to meet anymore. They wouldn’t be kicked around like dirt. They would move up, and not just a little bit. Cryptids were around the highest mythical creatures out there, and if they had one on their side, nobody could ever in their right mind treat them like errand boys anymore. His boss would become a highly respected member of the society, which meant that he would finally get to speak with the scientists housed at the headquarters. It meant they would be able to run with the big players in the industry. He turned to his boss with an almost manic grin on his face, and Stanford shared the excitement, although he managed to hide it much better than his assistant. William turned around, and Fiddleford had barely enough time to pull a straight face again. No need to concern the cryptid, who was clearly not very trusting towards humans. “The society never asked if they could touch first. I am glad you did, it is nice of you, and it is proof of respect.” The being spoke up, and Fiddleford adjusted his glasses to hide his surprise. The being knew the society apparently. That was interesting, to say the least. William saw that look and sighed, shortly explaining how he had been their prisoner for a year before escaping and crashlanding in the garden due to exhaustion. That explained a lot.

Stanford cleared his throat. “William, now that you have met my assistant, and you have seen proof that we mean well, I am hoping you would agree to come with us to the living room again, so we can hear more about your time with the society, and what else you know. Because I can tell you are full of knowledge. We are very eager to learn from creatures such as yourself, without the need of bringing them to the lab. Please do us the honour of giving us an insight in your world. A real one, not a fake picture we paint with our twisted experiments. Free us.” He asked friendly, but with just that subtle hint of charming persuasion. Fiddleford knew that voice well. It was so hard to resist it, and it didn’t surprise him that William just nodded and followed Stanford out of the ballroom. The scientist closed the door behind him after he too left the spacious area. As they walked, he stared at William’s pale, tattooed skin, and wondered if it would be possible for the cryptid to wear any kind of jacket. Oh well, a question to add to the list of things he wanted to ask Will. He had the feeling this was going to be a very interesting time for everyone. Perhaps not even just for the residents of the manor, but also for a few prominent members of the society.


	3. Spilling the tea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stanford has a plan, but before it is revealed, he needs to know the full story of William's time with the society, and in return, he will tell his story with them. It brings a lot to light that makes a lot of things very clear. And it finally reveals why Stanford is that angry.

**The puppeteer behind the curtain.**

Seated in the comfortable living room, Stanford found it time to open up about the plan he had been forming since he had found out about William’s connection to the Society of Witchcraft and Impossible Sciences. Certain things he had to pass by the Cryptid first, and other things partially relied on Fiddleford, who was the most sensitive to stress out of them. Although William was also terrified of what the society did to beings like him. Either way, it was good to make sure this plan would work, and to eliminate as many unknown factors as possible. Stanford’s fingertips were gently pressed together, his elbows resting on the armrests of his chair and he looked at both others with a calm look, deciding on the best way to start addressing this. Fiddleford was turning a puzzle cube in his hands, as usual. It had helped him to stop the habit of nail biting, which had gotten him in trouble a few times when he was working with chemicals. Since Stanford had given him the cube, he simply had to remind his assistant to keep it clean, so it was silent while he turned and twisted it, scrambling it up and solving it while barely looking at the thing. William was a lot more still. He sat on a seat without a back, choosing to have his wings out in the open, but folded to avoid hitting anything. The tips were resting on the wooden floor, but it didn’t seem to bother the cryptid. It was no wonder beings like him were quiet like this: they lived their lives hiding from the world. To do that, they all adopted a more introverted flair. It helped to keep them safe. Most of the time.

“William, before you start your story of what you know, I need to clarify something. Have you ever met the boss? The person who runs the society?” Stanford didn’t expect him to, or the cryptid would have been far more scared to talk to him about anything, but he had to be sure. William shook his head. “I only ever saw my handlers and the scientists. They were tasked with my… well, they called it care, but it was simply making sure I did not die of starvation but did not get a chance to escape either. I was weak, their procedures were harsh and painful. Even if I did see him at some point, I don’t remember it.” The cryptid ran a hand through his hair, then folded his wings around his own shoulders a little, like a safety blanket. “I do hope you have the strength for this, winged one. I need to ask you what they did to you. The more I know about how they mistreated you, disrespected you, and abused you, the better I know what to expect when I put an end to it. Because if I can, and I am sure that I can, I will make sure they can never do it to anyone else. But for that, I need to know your story.” Stanford was persuasive, but never in an oppressive way. He genuinely wanted to know, and to get there, he needed William to be comfortable enough to talk. The cryptid didn’t answer right away though. He seemed focussed on something on his wing. Fiddleford was staring at him, watching as the being carefully ran his fingers over a few feathers and eventually one fell down. “I knew it. They always get itchy when they get loose.” The cryptid muttered to himself, then sat up straight again.

“Most of what they did had to do with my wings. They would stretch them forcefully in the beginning, pull out my feathers, bend them in angles they shouldn’t go and tried how durable they were. I heal fast, luckily, but it was painful, and I phased them away. They were furious and tried to force me to display them again, dropping me from heights until I gave in, or trying to make them appear by cutting over the tattoos. It doesn’t work that way; they aren’t hidden under the ink when I hide them. But they tried anyway. Once they found out they could add lore to my stories by spreading it enough, one of the first things they did was keep me from phasing them away when they were being held by something. They attached belts to the base of my wings, forcing me to keep them out, no matter how much I tried to retract them. I could still fly while they were on, technically, but the cage they kept me in most of the time was too small to spread them even fully. If they did need me to fly, they took me to a bigger room, very close to the labs. The labs are where they cut me, stole my blood, and electrocuted me. They did everything they could think of to use my abilities to their own advantage, and I could not stop them. I never had my hands free in the lab, and when they weren’t needing my wings, they were weighted down so I could not hit them.” William clearly did not like talking about his time at the society. He had known nothing but pain and suffering there. Stanford wouldn’t ask about further details of the procedures the cryptid had gone through, he just nodded thoughtfully, with a sympathetic look on his face. He wasn’t surprised to hear about the treatment. Those people did not care for subtleties. If they wanted something from a creature, they obtained it. One way or the other.

“You say they started adding lore to make you stronger and more vulnerable to their plans. How exactly did they do that? I know that cryptids are tied to their respective lore, but for something to be included in the general consensus, it has to be read by a number of people, right?” Stanford was not planning to follow the example of the society, but he did want to know how they went about it. The cryptid ran a hand through his hair and nodded. “I am quite sure they had a specific group they targeted with their stories, because those were very quick to spread it further. They wrote down small snippets of information at a time and planted them in multiple places, so once they were pieced together, it would be like solving a puzzle for those people. To me, it felt unnatural.” He explained, and Fiddleford frowned. “Why is that?” The cryptid sighed. “While the way they spread the lore was effective, it was still forced. Forced lore feels a bit like what I would assume the artificial limbs feel like I saw in the labs when I was there. It didn’t belong to me. It wasn’t a true extension of myself, but instead it was a fake surrogate. It made me feel incredibly uncomfortable whenever they added new things. When I finally managed to erase it all, I felt so much lighter. It was as if a weight was lifted off my back, and I didn’t hesitate anymore. I retracted my wings so that the belts fell off, I brough them out again, and I ran, and flew as soon as I could.” William shivered once, and Stanford didn’t need to ask why. He understood a few things better now, and while he had not been above doing a few terrible things as well, he did not stand for this kind on non-sensical abuse.

“William, I can assure you that we do not plan on doing any of that. I am curious what the powers are you possess naturally, and if adding anything to it will cause you so much grief, I would not want to do that. You see, beings like yourself are perfect the way they are. What they did was attempt to create a hybrid, and I am glad they overstepped and allowed you to erase those unnatural parts.” Stanford let out a sigh. “Although I do wonder how they failed to see it coming.” He mused then, not really talking to the cryptid anymore. Will made a face. “It was a bit of a stretch. A rival of the society had learned something if I remember correctly, and to put an end to their plans, they added to my list of abilities that I could erase people’s memories from a distance. I sadly had to comply to their command to erase those plans from the rivals, but I managed to use it to erase the unnatural lore from the collective minds as well. Of course, I immediately lost the ability, or I would have erased my own existence from their memories, but it did bring enough confusion to allow me to get out.” And the rest of the story was known to the other two already. He had taken to the skies as soon as he saw a window big enough, and his wings had taken him away, out of sight and out of reach from their traps, weapons, and range of magic. But even then, he had never landed. The cryptid had flown until his wings got strained, until the exhaustion took over, at which point he had searched for a safe place to land. The gardens of the manor had been his eventual target due to the presence of many creatures he could sense, even from that distance. The result had been the crash landing that led to their current situation.

Stanford nodded and smiled. “Well, I have to admit that I am impressed by the way you handled yourself. You took the chance you had to escape and managed to get out. And now it’s our turn to do the same. And for that, you need to hear our story, of how we got involved with the society in the first place. Because you landing here was just as much their fault as us living here in the first place. Sadly, besides the unfortunate creatures that fell into their hands, they also hold an iron grip on those who wish to work with being like you in any way.” He sighed and let his hands rest on the armrests of the chair now. Fiddleford made a noise that sounded bitter, and William understood that these two had just as much hatred for those people as he had himself. “What did they do?” He asked quietly, although he wasn’t sure if he wanted to know the answer. The cryptid didn’t like the look on their faces. It promised a painful story and he didn’t know if he was ready for it. But Stanford was right, if they wanted to get out of their influence, he had to know about this too. They had listened to his story, no matter how painful it had been. He lasted a year with the society, but Stanford had already told him that the two of them had been forced to work for those people much longer. However, they had never gone through actual torture. They only had to deal with their iron grip on any situation about mythical creatures.

“Well, as you know, I applied to join the society quite young. They let me in, and the first few months were very interesting, and I learned more than I had expected about beings like you. At first when I joined, I was slightly sceptical, but they had a few beings assisting them with certain research topics, and I was very interested in the way they joined forces.” Yes, at first, the society of Witchcraft and Impossible Sciences had been an excellent place to work at, and Stanford had hoped to branch out on his own soon. And those he had been working with had been impressed by his work, so there really was nothing stopping him from getting what he wanted. William frowned. “They are not like that at all anymore. None of my kindred in there are workers equal to the members. They are prisoners, slaves and experiments.” He spoke up, and Stanford sighed deeply. “Yes, I know that. But that is because the original founder of the society went overboard with his experiments. He thought that by having blood from a few creatures injected in him, he would gain powers. As you and I know, that is not how hybrids work, and sadly, the man passed away. The board was scrambling to choose his successor, but before they could reach a decision, someone from outside joined in and started pumping money in the society, so they could up their research, have better equipment, and pay independent parties to review their work as real. This way they would get acknowledged by a greater public, and for a group that is often portrayed as frauds, this was quite a welcome occurrence.” One of the sorcerer’s hands clenched into a fist.

“This newcomer was now the main source of funding, meaning that it made sense that he would become the new leader. The boss so to speak. Nobody minded at first, but due to the increased interest, there were certain expectations to be met. And to achieve that, the new boss started to rearrange the way the entire society worked and set it up more as a business. It meant that the research teams were supposed to book result on specific topics that could be sold to the greater public. They were now working for specific demands, and for that, they needed supplies. Many of the best supplies were parts of beings that they would not be able to provide without risking their health. As soon as they started to refuse, they became prisoners. To provide the top research teams with what they needed, many members of the society were pushed down on the ladder, to become suppliers. There was a lot of resentment about that, which led to rules about climbing said ladder. Members who captured, or otherwise had access to a being that was more than a source for harvesting material, would be allowed to study those creatures themselves, thus becoming a more respected member once more. Would they not meet their quota of supplies until that moment, they were to be pushed out and banned from further access to the world of mythical creatures.” Stanford was struggling to hide the anger in his voice now. William stared at him, understanding the man was so angry. For a little while, he had been able to see first-hand how the collaboration between the human world, and William’s world could be, only to fall into a trap that was the society as the cryptid had come to know it. A factory for enhancements for the human world that served no purpose for the creatures. It only brought them pain and suffering.

Stanford looked up again at William and sighed. “I had no choice but to stay, or I would lose a great passion I had. I would lose all connection to the world that fascinated me so much. But it forced me to do things I never wanted to. I am convinced that this way of working is not optimal for either side. It might be the way that brings in money and recognition the fastest, but that is not what the society is about. Not like this.” While the sorcerer enjoyed recognition and fame, he wanted it for the real work, not what the society had turned into. And he had the feeling that he wasn’t the only one who thought this way about the changes made after the new boss took over. Really, that man was the source of all the problems. “I had some trouble finding a steady supply route, until I stumbled upon this place. Due to the rules of the society, I had first right to settle here, and I did. Ever since, I have been able to meet the quota needed to stay with them. But I have had enough, and when you crashed down here in the garden, I was actually thinking of a way to get out without losing my place in the world filled with mythical creatures forever. Sadly, I am at a slightly bigger disadvantage than most of the other suppliers. There is something I haven’t told the others, because I know I would be removed in no time.” Stanford’s gaze darkened, and William shivered lightly. “What is it?” The cryptid asked quietly, and the sorcerer looked at him directly, trying to find the right words.

Fiddleford shifted uncomfortably. He knew the reason. He knew why Stanford was especially angry at what had happened to the society. The sorcerer opened his mouth once more. “I know a lot about the man who is currently in charge of the society. I know that he initially didn’t even believe in the existence of beings such as yourself. I know that he barely interacts with the research side of the society. He treats it as a business. After turning a sports career into a lot of money, and with the conman talents he got from his father, he saw the society as a way to feed the public with lies. To squeeze more money from gullible people. He never saw you and all the other creatures as a whole other world to explore and work with. He is blinded by greed. And sadly, by hatred for me, which is why he was so set on keeping me as a supplier only, to give such harsh quotas. I know others got extensions when they could not meet the demands, but I was never allowed that luxury. And I know exactly why, but there is no way he can justify just continuing to use me this way now that you are on my side.” He now gave William a smile. The cryptid frowned confused. “How do you know all of that, and why does he have such a personal vendetta against you?” He asked, and Stanford crossed his arms. “Because he is my twin brother. Former sports hero Stanley Gleeful.”


	4. Standing up against the oppression

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stanford, Fiddleford, and William discuss what they will be doing against Stanley, to get out of the position they were forced in. Stanford gives Will a bit of a scare, but that happens.

**Every fire starts with just a spark.**

The news that the person responsible for so much suffering for so many different mythical creatures was related to the man who wanted nothing more than to learn about the world of those beings washed over the blue haired cryptid, who simply stared at Stanford in shock. He tried very hard to see any similarities between the two but failed completely. “How is that possible? What happened that you are like this towards eachother?” He asked eventually, his wings rustling a bit. The sorcerer sighed deeply and shook his head. “I do not know. I cannot remember a time I did not resent him. He has always had a habit of being quite physical, much more than I was. I preferred to focus on research and studies, while he was focussed on sports and popularity. We both had our crowds and rarely mixed.” Stanford had not exactly been planning to explain his full childhood history, but William’s expression was very attentive, and it was inviting him to speak more without him feeling judged about. Strange, perhaps it was because he felt more at ease around being who weren’t normal.

“We both had a drive for success, but it was strange to see how we both went about it. I made connections with those I felt could be beneficial to me, while he simply chose and picked who could make him look best. He never cared for their contribution, only for the reputation. I always wondered if it was not better to do a bit of both. It resulted in him being much more popular than me, but I had an academic advantage over him. I earned a full scholarship due to my grades and he gained one because of his success in sports. Our parents seemed to prefer his approach, especially because the older they got, the more skilled he became in deceit. I called him out for it, proved his game to be fixed, and it resulted in an investigation in both his grades, and even the legitimacy of the family business. While it was not my intention, I do have an issue with an undeserved reputation, and I did not feel remorse. Sadly, it came to light I was responsible for this downfall, and I was told in very clear terms it was time for me to move out. I did so and have not been in contact with my family since. My brother lost his scholarships however and proceeded to pursue a career in professional sports instead. He became a success and accumulated a significant wealth because of it. I was left to struggle for a while, until landing with the society.” Several of the less pleasant details were left out, including the part where Stanley had bullied him with his friends because of his birth deformity, but that was both irrelevant and highly unpleasant to talk about.

William had not interrupted the story once, but now sighed and looked up. “I understand why he must be angry with you, and I think I understand how it came to all of this. It is a shame that he seems to be so stuck in what happened back then.” He sighed, and Fiddleford made a sarcastic noise. “I doubt he has done all the work for his sports career, and I think he isn’t exactly selling the results of the Society for legitimate practices either.” He muttered, and Stanford shot him a look. “We don’t have proof about that, and you know how I feel about rumours.” He spoke sternly, and his assistant lowered his head. “Yes sir, I apologize.” He mumbled, knowing very well it was not his place to talk like this. It was just frustrating to see the man who had been such a nightmare at school lead the organisation they worked for. They had hoped to be free of him once they left college, but instead they were more wrapped up in his schemes than ever. Stanford could be harsh and strict, but at least he was fair. The same could not be said about his twin brother, who enjoyed backstabbing those who were no longer useful enough without thinking twice about. Stanford tended to create a group around himself who proved themselves to be skilled, powerful, and interesting. Stanley just took whoever he liked best, on a personal level, and took down everyone else. It really didn’t result in an optimal situation, but it did create a quickly growing group of customers for some reason. Most likely because Stanley’s taste relied heavily on popularity. A people pleaser really. He wasn’t dumb in the slightest but had different priorities.

Certain things about the society were not that bad, and the fact they had more clients to rely on was very beneficial, and Stanford did acknowledge this, albeit with a dose of reluctance. His primary goal was not to revert the Society back to what it had been before, but to get out of what his brother had turned it into. And he needed William to make that work, so it was it was time to get him in on the stages of the plan that would have to be completed to successfully rise up against Stanley in a way that was absolutely undeniable. Stanford gave a nod to the two others in the room, knowing they had to understand the steps were necessary, because they would ensure enough witnesses to make it impossible for his twin brother to deny the sorcerer what he would be entitled to according to the rules Stanley made up to keep the place running the way he wanted. Stanford had thought it over carefully, and it was time to get them both informed. “First things first of course. The usual procedure to move on from supplier to full member would be to apply. The society would then send us an official to verify that the being is real, and we would receive a certification saying we moved up and are now entitled to receiving supplies rather than having to meet quotas. However, I know that if we do that, the official might recognize you as the Cryptid they had in their grasp for a year and find a way to take you back, or they would simply deny your authenticity and refuse to up my status.” Stanford managed to sound calm, despite the anger he felt when he thought about this. It was clear to him they did not have to count on any form of fair treatment from the Society, not with his brother in charge of the place. Good thing that he already wasn’t counting on it. Instead, he would fight back, breaking rules as much as he had to, just to get the right attention from the right people. And that included a lot of anger from the higher-up in the Society.

William nodded, understanding the situation. “But then we have to make sure they can’t do that.” He said softly, before suddenly perking up. “They can’t just take me back though; we have the seal.” He said, and Stanford looked up. He had not forgotten about it, as the skin was still sensitive around the silver lines etched in his hand. “That is true, we are connected now, which is proof that you are indeed what you claim to be, and that you are with me. However, I would not put it past Stanley to ignore all of that. As I said, he has never quite forgiven me for what I did to the family business.” The sorcerer tapped his many fingers on the armrests of his chair before continuing. “No, I have an idea to get his attention in a much more pressing way. Fiddleford, I want you to look through the rules of the society and take everything you can find about our rights now that we have a mythical being on our side.” He told the scientist, who nodded immediately and took notes. “We will immediately seize all activities connected to harvesting.” Stanford added, causing Will to let out a sigh in relief. The man turned to him next. “I looked through what was known about you, and I saw that some of your kind can serve as a bridge between humans and the mythical beings, due to your high level of intelligence and ability to speak their language. Is this true for you?” He asked, and the Cryptid nodded. “Indeed, it is. And what is more, most of the beings tend to trust me more than others of my kind, because I have very few abilities meant to cause harm.” It was something the Society had never paid attention to while they experimented on him, which was their loss honestly.

Stanford on the other hand, seemed delighted about this news. “Excellent. Then I need your help to rekindle the trust in the creatures on my lands. I know those who survived have spread word of what happened inside the manor, and I want them to know that this is over and that we are wiping the slate. I want to collaborate with them in a different way, but I cannot help but agree with the opinion they have of me at the moment.” He concluded, and William nodded thoughtfully. “I can perhaps speed it up by healing those who are left with long lasting damage due to harvesting. If I can gain enough of their trust to send someone back to the house with me, we would be infinitely closer to building up a new trust.” He mused, and Stanford was pleasantly surprised to see how logical the being was about it. “If we stop sending supplies to the Society, they will send someone over to take away our privileges, and this would include the house itself. William, I will warn you whenever someone is here, so you can stay out of sight. I think it is better that you don’t show yourself to them until the right moment. I will inform you when this moment is when I have more clarity about the follow-up steps the Society will take after the first time, we will send them packing, do you agree with this?” It was better to ask if the Cryptid was comfortable with the secrecy done this way, but to his delight, the blue haired male nodded with a smile. “Of course. I wouldn’t want to attract the wrong kind of attention too soon.”

After that was all clear and settled, the sorcerer turned to Fiddleford once more. “From all the rules you find, I want a separate document about the direct consequences of gaining access to a higher being used for something other than harvesting. Then I want to go through a testing schedule with you. I have some ideas, and I am sure you have a few things you want to do too, so we will set it up together and make sure nothing is forgotten or doubled. I think in 48 hours you should have gone through all the rules, will you make that?” He clarified with the scientist who nodded. “Good. Then I suggest we schedule that meeting right after, so we can have it started by the time they send someone over. Yes, William? You look like you are distressed.” The sorcerer turned to the cryptid again, who was indeed very nervous and was making soft protesting noises whenever Stanford mentioned the testing schedule. “I thought I wasn’t here to be an experiment.” He asked quietly, and the man realized his choice of words must have been very similar to the way Will’s handlers had spoken to and about him. “You are not, winged one. There is a simple misunderstanding. When I speak of testing, I am not planning to have Fiddleford cut your skin. The worst we would do in this sense would draw one or two tubes of blood to check the properties. No, I am more thinking along the lines how fast you can hide and display your wings, how much wind you make with a single wing beat, and what you are able to lift. I should maybe call it training in a sense.” Stanford tried to comfort William. He wasn’t like Stanley. He had different plans.

Fiddleford nodded thoughtfully. “Those went through my head as well. I also wonder how long you can fly, what winds you are able to resist and how fast you are.” Those were just off the top of his head. There were so many things he wanted to know about the Cryptid. The hair, the heterochromia, the skin, the clothing. Every bit. But like Stanford, he didn’t plan on cutting the being open. Perhaps certain machines could help with a few things. An X-ray would show everything he needed to know about the bone structure in the wings for example. William seemed nervous, despite the fact they both were very clear about what they wanted, what they were thinking about. Stanford sighed, wanting to move on. After all, this would be for later. “Winged one, I suggest we will let it rest, and we can discuss the details of these test later. If it would make you feel safe, I can let you sit in when we discuss the planning and stay with you for at least the first round of tests. And you know that we still have the seal. You do not have to fear me, and I don’t want to give you a reason to fear me. We are on the same side, against the society, and I want to keep it that way.” A dashing smile went with this promise, and slowly, the cryptid did calm down. His wings had been rustling, but now they went still again. He trusted Stanford’s promises, although this was mostly because of the seal in the man’s hand.

The maid entered with tea, and instinctively the cryptid retracted his wings, despite knowing the staff most likely knew about them. The girl simply smiled at him and left the room again. Stanford passed everyone a cup of tea and leaned back again. Fiddleford stared at Will for a while, seemingly thinking about something. Suddenly he blurted out a question. “How old are you?” It was a fair question. While in human terms, the cryptid looked like he was somewhere in his twenties, it was clear that he did not age. This was a common side-effect from being immortal. The blue haired being seemed surprised and had to think about it. “I am not quite sure, maybe around two millennia? I have been around from the moment humans have started to combine people with birds to create winged ones. But as with all Cryptids, in our early stages we are rather unstable, until the consensus about us grows and we gain a definite form. It is uncomfortable, the youngling stage. I remember when my wings would be where my arms are. And I am sure I have had more than two wings at some point too. Yet when it seemed to settle like this, I was glad. It is by far the most practical version. Then a few details I was able to choose myself. The blue eye is the result of stories, but the purple eye is something I added myself, to differentiate me from other winged ones.” William explained then, and Fiddleford listened attentively, both fascinated and slightly horrified when he pictured what the early stages must have been like. It did not sound too pleasant.

Stanford listened too, but he was mostly just fascinated. He wondered if it would be possible that beings such as aliens were actually cryptids in reality. This added a very interesting layer of theories over his studies, and it appeared he would have more than enough to do. So, while he sipped at his tea, he grew more and more elated with the fortunate events that brought William to him. While it had been after a lot of suffering, both on his side and the Cryptid’s side, they had met and would form a force to be reckoned with. Stanley would get what he deserved, a taste of his own medicine, if everything would go well. And William? He would be an incredibly valuable source of information. No, this being was not for experiments, at least not the kind that would leave him unconscious and injured for long periods of time. Even if the being could survive a crash landing without much injury, he would prefer to avoid it altogether. There were other things he could do with the Cryptid.


End file.
